It’s… his sense of humor.

Because, yeah, he does.

It’s just that it shows up at the worst possible moments, often making light of serious situations when focus is crucial.

“This is a terrible idea,” you mutter, ducking behind a half-destroyed structure, with the distant sound of metal clanging and something exploding not too far from you.

Steve, at your side, checks his shield with a calmness that should be illegal in a situation like this.

“I’ve had worse.”

You look at him. You blink.

“Did you really just say that?”

“Yes.”

“Steve, we’re trapped in a complex full of people who want to kill us.”

“Correct.”

“With no clear way out.”

“Also correct.”

“And with a pretty high chance that this will end badly.”

Steve looks up at you and smiles.

“Then technically, it’s not the worst.”

You stare at him.

“I kind of hate you right now.”

“I know.”

The building creaks.

A long, deep sound, as if something inside is giving way. You both look up at the same time. Dust falls from the ceiling.

“That didn’t sound good,” you say.

“No,” Steve admits. “Buildings don’t usually do that when everything’s going well.”

“Thanks for the clarification.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

You peek out just a little. Bad idea. A shot hits nearby; you duck back down suddenly.

“Okay, they definitely saw us.”

“It looks that way.”

“‘It looks that way,” you repeat, incredulously. “They’re shooting at us, Steve!”

“Yeah, that’s usually a good clue.”

You push him lightly.

“Stop joking around!”

“Full name,” Steve requested.

Not “Jenna.” Just protocol. Jenna frowned.

“Are you serious?”

“Answer me.”

“Jenna Marie Rumlow.”

The last name hung in the air, as if it were proof, as if it were enough. Steve held her gaze.

“Relationship to Brock Rumlow.”

“He’s my father,” she replied. “Where is this going?”

“He’s linked to HYDRA. S.H.I.E.L.D. was infiltrated,” Steve continued. “HYDRA has been operating from within for years.”

“No,” she repeated, now shaking her head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does.”

Jenna blinked once, as if she hadn’t understood.

“No, it doesn’t,” her voice began to crack. “My dad isn’t…”

She didn’t finish the sentence, because she didn’t even know how to defend something that had just stopped making sense. Steve took a step toward her.

“How long have you been involved?”

“What?”

“Your name appears in files.”

“That’s impossible.”

“It isn’t.”

“I haven’t done anything!”

The echo of her voice bounced off the walls, but it didn’t change anything. Steve watched her, evaluating, gauging every reaction as if searching for a lie.

“If you didn’t know,” he said finally, “now is the time to say so.”

“I didn’t know. I had no idea.”

“I can’t take that at face value,” Steve replied.

Jenna let out a brief, hollow laugh.

"Sure." She nodded slowly. “Of course not. So, you don’t trust me. Do what you have to do, Captain. What else do you need, Captain?” she asked, emotionless.

Steve Rogers didn’t answer right away.

“There’s something else,” he finally said.

Jenna felt her stomach clench.

“What is it?”

There was a silence that felt too long.

“All of this,” Steve began, taking a step toward her, “refers to you and me. What does that have to do with HYDRA?”

Steve held her gaze.

“No,” Jenna said, shaking her head slowly. “No. You’re not going to do that.”

“Your father was a HYDRA agent,” he continued. “You were close to me. You had access. Information.”

“Are you saying that I…?”

“I’m saying it might not have been a coincidence.”

Silence. Jenna looked at him as if he’d slapped her.

“Do you think I got close to you for a mission?”

Steve didn’t answer directly. But he didn’t deny it. And that was enough.

“Say it,” she whispered. “Go ahead and say it.”

Steve clenched his jaw.

“I need to consider the possibility that not everything was real.”

The world stopped.

“‘Not everything was real’…?”

Jenna’s voice cracked slightly.

For the first time.

“That maybe,” he continued, “what you felt, what you said, was part of…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

“A mission,” she finished for him.

Silence.

“In other words,…” Steve hesitated slightly, but not long enough. “There are things that could have been manipulated.”

Jenna frowned.

“What things?”

Steve looked her straight in the eyes.

“When you told me you’d never been with anyone.”

Jenna froze completely, as if she hadn’t understood.

“What…?”

“It could have been a way to build trust,” he added. “To appear vulnerable.”

“You’re…” Her voice trembled. "You're saying I lied about that.”

Steve didn’t say yes or no, and once again, that was enough. Jenna’s eyes filled with tears; they didn’t fall right away, but they were there, glistening.

“Wow…” The laugh that escaped her was broken. Unrecognizable. “Wow, Steve.” She took a step back, as if she needed space to breathe. “You know what’s the worst part?”

He didn’t answer.

“That you’re not saying those words because you think it’s true. You’re saying it because you need it to be. You need all of this to have been a lie, because it’s easier than accepting that you doubted me for no reason.”

Silence.

“Jenna…”

“No.”

Now she stopped him completely. The tears finally fell, but her voice no longer trembled.

“Don’t ever say my name again as if you still have the right to do so." Jenna took a deep breath. “It was never a mission. I never lied to you.” Another step back, more distance. “And what hurts me the most isn’t that you believe all this”—her eyes didn’t leave him—“it’s that you didn’t even hesitate before saying it. This is over. There’s nothing to fix here; we’re done.”

Steve took a step toward her.

“Jenna, wait—”

She shook her head.

“No. You’ve done enough.”

She turned away. And that silence…

Steve nodded slightly. Once. Then he turned. And walked toward the door. The door opened. For a second… it looked like he was going to turn around. He didn’t. The door closed.

And the sound… was too loud for such a small room.

Silence.

Jenna didn’t move; she remained standing, turned away, staring at nothing, breathing… or trying to.

One.

Two.

Three.

The air wouldn’t come in properly.

“No…”

It was barely a whisper; she brought a hand to her face, but it didn’t work—tears began to fall.

“No… no, no…”

She shook her head, as if she could change it—she couldn’t—and forced herself to stand up straight.

“It’s okay… I’m fine…”

That was a lie. Her hands were shaking. She remembered every word.

“A mission.”

“It wasn’t real.”

She closed her eyes.

“It doesn’t matter…”

But it didn't matter, or maybe it did.

Too much.

Jenna let out a broken laugh.

“Sure…”

She covered her face.

“You’re an idiot…”

She took a deep breath.

She pulled herself together little by little.

“It wasn’t my fault! ” Ethan protested from the hallway, his voice somewhere between laughter and indignation.

“It was! ” Juliet replied, arms crossed. “I told you not to run with the pillow.”

“It was a mission! ”

“It was the couch! ”

The sharp thud against the wall still seemed to echo through the living room when Steve looked up from where he’d been reviewing some papers that clearly no longer mattered to him.

He sighed.

“Team,” he said in a firm but gentle voice. “Status report.”

Silence.

Then footsteps.

Lots of footsteps.

Too many footsteps.

James was the first to peek in, with that calmness of his.

“Minor impact,” he said with complete seriousness. “Minimal collateral damage.”

“A lamp almost died,” Juliet added from behind.

“But it survived,” Ethan said, as if that settled the matter.

Then the twins appeared.

Two little storms on legs, with sparkling eyes and hands full of… fabric.

Lots of fabric.

“Look!” said one.

“Stop right there! ” added the other, proudly pointing at what was clearly… a sheet.

Behind them, Jenna walked in more slowly, with an expression that said it all: she knew exactly what was going on.

And she knew she wasn’t going to stop it.

“Don’t ask,” she murmured, passing by Steve. “It’s already started.”

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“What’s started?”

Jenna smiled faintly.

“The construction.”

And then he understood.

He looked at the sheet.

Then, the pillows piled up in the hallway.

Then at the kids.

Then at Jenna.

He looked back at the kids.

“No,” he said, without much conviction.

“Yes! ”They all replied at once.

The living room ceased to be a living room in less than ten minutes.

First came the chairs.

Moved, dragged, strategically positioned.

Then the sofa cushions.

Then the blankets.

Sheets.

Quilts.

Anything that could serve as a structure, a roof, a wall… or makeshift decoration.

Steve watched at first, standing with his arms crossed.

Analyzing.

Because, of course, if something was going to be built… it had to be functional.

“That’s going to fall,” he finally said, pointing to a corner where Ethan and Juliet were trying to hold a sheet over an unstable tower of pillows.

“No,” said Ethan.

The structure tilted dangerously.

“Yes,” added Steve.

The tower collapsed.

The twins laughed as if it were the best thing that had happened all day.

“You need support,” Steve continued, now stepping closer. “A firm base, anchor points.”

“Anchor points? ” Juliet repeated.

“Like this,” he said, grabbing a chair and placing it on its side. “If you secure the fabric here and distribute the weight…”

“Is he helping? ” Jenna murmured, leaning against the wall with a crooked smile.

“He’s taking the lead,” James replied calmly.

And yes.

He was.

Because within minutes, Steve was already on his knees on the floor, arranging pillows, tightening sheets, securing corners with a precision almost ridiculous for something that, in theory, was just a game.

“This isn’t just a fort,” he said, serious. “It’s a defensive structure.”

“It’s a pillow fort! ” Juliet laughed.

“Exactly,” he replied.

The inside of the fort was another world.

Light filtered through the fabrics, creating a warm, soft, almost magical atmosphere.

The blankets on the floor made everything comfortable.

Safe.

Small, but enough.

The twins were the first to go in, crawling in enthusiastically.

“Home!” said one.

“Ours! ” added the other.

Ethan followed, followed by Juliet, who pretended she didn’t care that much… though clearly she did.

James entered more calmly, settling into a corner as if he already knew that would be his spot.

Steve hesitated for a second.

He looked at the structure from the outside.

Then at Jenna.

“Will it hold? ”

Jenna looked at him.

“It’s a pillow fort, Steve.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

She smiled.

“Come in.”

And he went in.

Being careful not to knock anything over.

Settling in gently.

Jenna went in last, closing the entrance with another blanket, leaving the interior lit only by the soft light seeping through the fabric.

“Welcome,” said Ethan, “to the secret base.”

“Secret from whom? ” asked Juliet.

“From everyone.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Exactly.”

The twins snuggled up to Jenna, laughing for no particular reason.

James watched.

Steve… took a deep breath.

“Rules? ” he finally asked.

“There are no rules,” said Juliet.

“There are always rules,” replied Steve.

“Then you can’t give orders,” Ethan added quickly.

Steve looked at him.

“That’s not a rule; that’s a direct attack.”

Jenna laughed.

“Admit defeat, soldier.”

And for the first time in a long time… Steve didn’t argue.

He leaned back slightly against the pillows.

Ethan was making up absurd stories.

Juliet was correcting everything.

James was listening.

Jenna… was simply there.

And Steve…

Es… su sentido del humor.

Porque sí, lo tiene.

Solo que aparece en los peores momentos posibles.

—Esto es una pésima idea —murmuras, agachándote detrás de una estructura medio destruida, con el sonido lejano de metal chocando y algo explotando no tan lejos de ustedes.

Steve, a tu lado, revisa su escudo con una calma que debería ser ilegal en una situación así.

—He tenido peores.

Lo miras. Parpadeas.

—¿De verdad acabas de decir eso?

—Sí.

—Steve, estamos atrapados en un complejo lleno de gente que quiere matarnos.

—Correcto.

—Sin salida clara.

—También es correcto.

—Y con una probabilidad bastante alta de que esto termine mal.

Steve levanta la vista hacia ti, y sonríe.

—Entonces técnicamente no es la peor.

Lo miras fijamente.

—Te odio un poco ahora mismo.

—Lo sé.

El edificio cruje.

Un sonido largo, profundo, como si algo dentro estuviera cediendo. Ambos levantan la mirada al mismo tiempo. Polvo cae del techo.

—Eso no sonó bien —dices.

—No —Steve admite—. Generalmente los edificios no hacen eso cuando todo va bien.

—Gracias por la aclaración.

—Para eso estoy.

Te asomas apenas. Mala idea. Un disparo impacta cerca, te agachas de nuevo de golpe.

—Vale, definitivamente nos vieron.

—Eso parece.

—“Eso parece” —repites, incrédula—. ¡Nos están disparando, Steve!

—Sí, eso suele ser una buena pista.

Lo empujas ligeramente.

—¡Deja de hacer chistes!